


Confessions and Consequences

by Sophia_Anne_Moore



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 02:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19219888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Anne_Moore/pseuds/Sophia_Anne_Moore
Summary: Troy thinks he knows everything about his best friend Gabriella, but the one thing she never told him might actually destroy their friendship forever. Now that her secret is out, the two must endure the repercussions of unrequited love in order to keep everything between them from coming completely unraveled.





	1. Her Confession

The fact that I could potentially be saying goodbye to a friendship that had spanned decades with three small words had me shaking with anxiety, and the coffee wasn't helping. I shouldn't have felt nervous. After all, I had been secretly planning and preparing for today's meeting with Troy for the past year. In the beginning, when I had only recently realized what was happening to me, I teased with the thought of spitting it out completely improvised. It was a thrilling thought that sent my heart beating wildly in my chest and made my hands clam over in cold sweat, but I could never go through with it. That's when I started practicing and rehearsing exactly what I needed to say, talking it over with myself in the shower and frequently fantasizing about the best scenarios. Although I was satisfied with the words I memorized for today, I knew that no amount of preparation would change the inevitable destruction I caused with them. I knew that there would be consequences, but I never expected my confession to ruin everything between us.

With my sweaty hands clamped down on my bouncing knees, I watched the other customers. The businessmen and housewives casually strolled in and out of this small coffee shop off the corner of 18th and Broadway so effortlessly. They plucked their paper cups off the counter, plugged in their computers, and merrily slurped their morning dose of caffeine. I was already nauseous with nervousness, but the sight made me green with envy. While they got to continue whatever their Tuesday routine had planned for them, I was stuck on this uncomfortable metal chair waiting for him, occasionally reminding myself to breathe through the seconds until he would arrive.

The doorbell chimed and I slowly twisted in my seat to check who came in, finding him wrapped in his bright blue winter coat, rushing inside to escape the fierce winter air. He searched the room for me, appearing slightly lost, and I forced myself to raise my shaking hand up in the air to wave at him. He continued to glance around the coffee shop before our eyes connected, pointing his chin at me in acknowledgement. He walked around the display of reusable coffee mugs and the line to the counter towards my table. He took his seat across from me and unzipped his jacket.

He casually and obliviously asked, "Hey, so what did you want to talk about?"

As I looked into his eyes, I saw everything that made me who I was. I saw myself chasing the little boy with the gap in his teeth. I saw the young woman who so carelessly and unexpectedly fell in love with this man. I saw everything that has existed between us. I saw every conceivable future that could exist for us. Yet here I was, potentially saying goodbye to all of it. With my breath caught in my throat and my knuckles turning white beneath their tight grip on the cup, I blurted out, "I love you."

He nonchalantly responded, "Yeah, I love ya too, girl."

"Troy, I mean it." Unable to speak more than a couple words without running out of breath, I slowly explained, "I'm in love with you."

He chuckled, "Okay. This a joke, right?"

"No."

He shook his head disbelievingly. "You can't be serious."

I responded in shaky, barely audible voice, "I am."

"You love me?"

I nodded.

" _Love_  me?"

"Yes, I love you."

" _Love_ - _love_?"

I left his question hanging in the open air. He stared at me with a blank expression, blinking once, twice, three times.  _Please say something_ , I thought. He began to shake his head and avoided looking me in the eyes, glancing around the room from the brick wall beside us to the art behind me.  _Say something._  He glanced down to the table, hiding his face from me for a moment before looking up again, a particular sadness displayed on his features. I was prepared for him not to reciprocate my feelings, but I discovered that something even worse was happening. He pitied me.

It pissed me off. I didn't need him looking at me like I was a sad puppy that he accidentally hurt, too. I didn't want his pity. I sprang to my feet and jammed my chair against the table. "I have to go." I snatched my coffee from the table and hurried out the door.

"Brie!" I heard him yell after me, "I'm sorry!"

When did I realize that I had fallen in love with my best friend? At one point in the long timeline of our friendship, the thought of loving Troy as more than a friend would have been revolting. This was when we chased each other around in games of tag and pretended that trees were mobile monsters, threatening to stomp the city flat beneath their heavy bark feet. We swam with each other at the pool, seeing who could hold their breath under water the longest, and played videogames on his Wii well into the early hours of the morning. Back in those days of our childhood, I would have considered kissing Troy to be almost incestuous.

When we reached high school, I wasn't grossed out by the thought of romantically loving Troy anymore, but found it rather humorous instead. I was so used to thinking of him only as a best friend that considering anything more would cause me to break out in a fit of laughter, especially when our new friends would tease us about taking each other to school dances.

(Oh how wrong I was.)

In college, I sometimes toyed with the idea of dating him, but that was when I was between serious boyfriends and just bored of being single. No, it wasn't until Troy and I had graduated college that my feelings for him developed into something new. If you're waiting for some romantic tale of the moment that I made this discovery, then I'm sorry to disappoint. Falling in love with him wasn't like the flip of a switch. It was process as slow and gradual as it takes for people to change. As we grew from children to teens to young adults, our connection morphed and made us into, as I believe, soul mates.

I suppose there were instances like bursts of heightened emotion when I felt like I was in love, gradually occurring more and more frequently until I arrived where I was that day. Like when he took a week off to look after me during the one-year anniversary of my father's death, and the brief thought that he cared for me more than as just a friend sent a jolt of excitement and warmth through my core. Or there was the time that we were happily drunk off our asses in the middle of downtown Miami during a Spring Break trip. The way the sides of his eyes wrinkled and the magnificent smile on his face appeared as he roared with laughter, stumbling against me for support after losing a fight with the bouncer. As stupid as he sounded for that, that was the first time I yearned to pucker my lips and press them against his. It wasn't until the time we hiked up a restricted trail at night time to overlook the city lights a few years later that I nearly did.

These beautiful moments that have occurred between us only show one part of my all-encompassing love for him. Understand that Troy means more than just the world to me; he means absolutely everything. He's everything that could tangibly exist in this world and more, including the supernatural realms and inaccessible dimensions. More than whatever this world could conjure up and what my mind could imagine  _combined_. And sitting on this quiet subway ride on the way home with only my thoughts to accompany me, all I could do was hope that at least some of that could be salvaged.

…

Before I could twist the knob, the door swung opened and my keys flew out of my hand. Sharpay greeted me with a pair of massive, excited brown eyes and reached out to pull me inside. The door slammed shut and she roughly pushed me against the wall, ignoring the concept of personal space and leaning into my face to interrogate, "How'd it go? Tell me everything!"

I shrugged out of her grasp and shimmied along the wall away from her, "Exactly how you'd expect." As I walked around her to the kitchenette, she stalked me, keeping right on my ear.

Her breath rolled down my face as she spoke in such close proximity, "So he didn't say it back?"

"Of course not."

She incredulously laughed, "Holy shit! I can't believe this!"

"You mean you're surprised?"

"That you actually told him? Yes. I was positive that you'd pussy out. So what exactly did he say?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, what did he say?"

"I told you," I snapped as my patience was cracking inside of me. I wasn't fond of Sharpay's curiosity at this moment; finding her interest morbid, comparable to those bystanders who gawk at gruesome car crashes. All I wanted was privacy as I dealt with the destruction of everything I love, not to have the broken chunks of my heart slid underneath her microscope.

"He really didn't say anything?"

I chose to occupy myself with digging through the pantry to find some Ramen for dinner instead of entertaining her with a retelling of today's tragic events.

Sharpay continued on the conversation by herself, murmuring, "What a jackass. You're better off without him, babe!"

I know she only meant to be encouraging, but her words stung somewhere deep inside of me, like flicking a fresh wound. The idea of continuing on without Troy in my life was tragic and painful, and worse, entirely possible. Worry and sadness soon unleashed over me and drowned my heart like a broken damn. I abandoned Sharpay in the living room and ran into our bathroom, locking the door behind me. Choking on the lump in my throat and tears streaming down my face, I realized that this wasn't what I wanted. I shouldn't have confessed my love to him, but I did, and now I needed to ensure that Troy and I would be okay. I had to know that everything would be alright. I took out my phone and called him.  _What if he doesn't pick up?_ I worried. _What if we never speak again?_

After the ringing stopped, but before he could speak, I cried out, "I'm sorry I told you!"

"Whoa, Brie?"

"I just wanted to be honest with you," I sobbed. "I thought you'd appreciate that at least. I don't want to make things weird."

"Brie, calm down. It's alright."

Collapsing against the sink, I frantically wept into the phone, "I just need to know that everything going to be okay; that we're going to be okay because I care about you so much and I need you in my life and - "

Sharpay somehow jimmied the lock open and whispered to me, "Are you on the phone with him?"

I leaned against the door to push it close, but she rammed her shoulder against it and busted inside the small bathroom. I cowered against the glass shower door in fear as she snatched the phone from my stunned hands. She hung up the call and dangled the device in front of me. "If I give this back to you, do you promise not to do something so stupid again?"

My crying subsided and a tense, palpable silence momentarily fell into the room. I said, "I needed to talk to him. I had to know that we were going to be okay."

Sharpay rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Looking at me like I was an idiot, she impatiently explained, "Gabriella, do I need to remind you what you told him today? You can't tell a man that you love him one minute, and call him crying on the phone an hour later. You're overwhelming him with emotions. Guys don't like that. Guys can't handle like that. You're going to freak him out. I know you just want to be reassured, but Troy can't give you that. I can't give you that. Even you can't give yourself that because  _no one_  really knows what's going to happen. As hard as it may be, you have to wait it out. Let him come to you."

"What if he doesn't come back?"

Sharpay shrugged, "His loss." She turned to leave the room, and then hesitated while looking down at my phone in her hands. "I'm going to keep this for now," she said as she slid it into her back pocket and left the room.

I pushed off from the shower door behind me and moved to the sink to run some cold water over my hot hands, pooling some in my palms and dipping my face into the puddle that I held. With droplets splattering onto the porcelain surface below, I blindly reached for a towel and dabbed myself dry. I stared in the mirror at the stranger, the shame and remorse visible on her features. I gripped the towel tighter, my nails digging deep into the base of my palms. The reflection blurred as tears obscured my vision and I unleashed an infuriated shriek.

What have I done?


	2. A New Me

"Repeat after me. _I will not chase a man._  Go on, say it."

While Sharpay tried to coach me with her mantras, I was far more preoccupied with matching the right blazer to my pencil skirt for a job interview in thirty minutes. "Sharpay, please. Not right now." I briskly tossed my blankets onto my bed and dropped down onto my hands and knees to check underneath my bed for a pair of missing shoes. "Have you seen my flats?"

"You can borrow a pair of mine."

"Thanks," I went into her room and checked the back of the door for her shoe rack, sifting through the red bottoms, furry flip flops, and hot pink stilettos for a sensible pair.

Sharpay slowly cracked the door open and said, "I want you to say it before you leave."

"What?"

"I want you to say that you will not chase a man."

While rolling my eyes, I said, "I will not chase a man."

"Good! Now don't forget to say that every morning after you wake up and every night before you go to sleep, then maybe you'll start to live it!" She murmured to herself but still loud enough for me to hear, "Miracles  _can_ happen after all."

I spotted a folded up pair of black flats with little black bows over the toes.  _Good enough_ , I thought. I tore them from the rack and quickly slid them on. Running out past Sharpay, I yelled over my shoulder, "Wish me luck!"

"You're not going to need it, babe!"

After a delayed train ride, I hustled up the stairs from the underground and checked the time. "Shit!" I weaved through crowds of tourists gawking at the buildings I've grown accustomed to and ducked through the farmer's market. After I narrowly avoided colliding with a cyclist, I crossed forty-second street and ran inside the company's building. I hurried through the security check and ran up the stairs to the forth level. After I breathlessly introduced myself to the receptionist, she led me inside the office to a small conference room where my potential future boss waited.

I felt the sweat glazed above my brow gradually thicken as she questioned me about my  _slightly_ exaggerated credentials. Where it said I had volunteered at a soup kitchen for the last two years, I had actually been feeding myself cheap Ramen. My listed references were fictitious former professors and their contact information was for Sharpay and Troy. The semester abroad with a foreign exchange program in Mexico was really just the month I spent down there with family after dad died. (It's not my fault all entry positions want to see two years of experience and proficiency in five languages on top of a four-year degree.)

I stuttered through every curt answer I could muster up and wrung my hands together underneath the table the whole time. After less than fifteen minutes in the room, my interviewer led me to the door. We exchanged a quick handshake and she said that she'd call me with a decision by the end of the week, but I knew I had bombed it.

What was I going to do? Stocking shelves and checking out customers at Falstaff Bookstore wasn't going to keep a roof over my head for much longer. The money I saved from my old waitress gig before the restaurant closed was running out. I desperately needed that corporate secretary position to save me from going broke. With all these concerns in my head, I silently made my way back to the subway station when my phone rang. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart jump up into my throat.

It was Troy.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice shaking.

"Hey Brie, are you busy? I was hoping we could meet up and talk about things."

My mouth went dry. "I'm free right now."

"Okay, come over." He disconnected the call.

…

Troy rented the top level of a duplex house in a freshly redeveloped, gentrified neighborhood in Brooklyn called Bushwick. Directly across from Irving Square Park and less than a mile away from Knickerbocker Avenue, Troy's home on Weirfield Street was a seriously lucky grab. He had cut a deal with the landlord, agreeing to be the handy man in the house in exchange for reduced rent. So for power-washing the cream colored bricks in the summer and shoveling snow off the steps in the winter (and occasionally checking the pipes) he could live in one of the coolest neighborhoods in this city.

I passed by a few houses in the line of connected buildings before approaching his, the only one with a pot of flowers in every window sill (that was my touch). I trotted up the steps and buzzed his doorbell, trying to regulate my breathing against my pounding heart. I heard his loud steps thumping down the staircase until the door swung open. "Hey," he said.

Overcome with shyness, I lowered my gaze to the floorboards and silently entered the house. We walked up the staircase on the left side of the foyer, neither of us saying a word. I reached his door and let myself in; savoring its appearance since I knew it was probably my last time in here. I allowed my eyes to trace the frames along the doors and walls, noticing the dry blotches of paint dribbling over their wood from our terrible attempt at painting. I looked at the busted corner of the television from the time I fell off the ladder when trying to hang Christmas lights around his ceiling and took his flat screen down with me. Then there was the corkboard on the wall dividing the living and dining rooms covered in the speeding tickets Troy considered achievements, photos of his family, and some of us. The door slammed shut and I was forced to say goodbye to those memories and confront my new reality. I spun around as Troy stepped forward into the sunlight. He motioned towards the couch and said, "Should we sit?"

I quietly cleared my throat and said, "Sure."

I prayed that this would be quick, that he would agree to forget this like it never happened, but that wasn't what he wanted.

He took his seat in the armchair next to the charcoal black couch I was on and said, "I want to understand what you said. I just," he subtly shakes his head in the middle of his thought, "I can't wrap my head around it."

I shifted uncomfortably into the stiff leather, weary about opening up to him. In the early days when I was still revising and working out the kinks for my confession, I considered quite a few renditions where I would shower him with compliments and explain how deep my love for him ran. It took a while for me to realize that a longer confession would only confuse and complicate things (and make it more awkward when he inevitably couldn't reciprocate my feelings). I eventually realized that a simple 'I love you' said it all without saying too much.

I said, "You heard what I said. I don't know what's confusing about it."

"How long have you felt that way for me?"

I couldn't decide how to answer. I didn't know which lie would be the best. Would six months be too long, too recent? What about a year? What about the truth?

"Brie?"

"It's been some time."

"A long time?"

I sighed, "Troy, I don't think I can give you that answer."

"What made you decide to tell me now?"

I rephrased his question in my head to, _Yeah Gabriella, why_ now _did you decide to be such an idiot?_  I sighed, guiltily averting my eyes from Troy as I sunk deep until regret swallowed me whole. All of this was my fault. I was acting so selfishly. I risked our entire friendship over the miniscule possibility that he would say that he loved me, too. I couldn't let go of my self-centered fantasy, and now I had changed everything without any way to undo it. I felt a tear splatter onto my forearm and said, "I think I should get going."

"Brie, hang on."

"I need to go," I decided, standing from the couch and leaving while he remained in his armchair.

…

This time when I came home, Sharpay wasn't anticipating my arrival since I hadn't told her about my meeting with Troy. It wouldn't have made a difference. It took her one quick glance at my face to read everything.

"Gabriella," she groaned in disappointment. "You saw him, didn't you?"

I nodded.

She face-palmed before asking, "Was it your idea or his?"

"His," I said as I dug through the freezer for our carton of chocolate ice cream.

"I'm sorry."

I scoffed and shook off her pity. I angrily stabbed my spoon into the ice cream and curled up a scoop. I let it melt in my mouth as I seethed at the situation I was in. "Forget this!" I yelled, spitting out the melted chocolaty ice cream into the sink.

"What's your problem?" Sharpay asked, cautiously entering the kitchenette like she was afraid to really see what was going on.

"Look at me, Shar." I pointed at the chocolate ice cream on the counter. "I'm acting like such a cliché. I don't want to do this. I don't want to play the part of the poor girl who got rejected and eats her feelings for months afterwards." I shook my head. "I refuse to become that. I absolutely  _refuse_!"

Sharpay approvingly cheered, "Go Gabby! Girl power!"

I picked up the container from the counter and flipped it face down into the trashcan.

"No!" Sharpay dove for the trashcan, looking at the overturned container in dismay. "Why the hell did you do that?"

I opened the freezer and grabbed a cookies n' cream carton.

"Stop it!" Sharpay quickly dove for the carton and ripped it from my grasp. "Just because you want to become a sad gluten-free vegan doesn't mean the rest of us have to!"

I jerked the container away from her and forcefully chucked it into the garbage can so hard that it toppled over.

Sharpay stared at the trash scattered across the tile floor with her mouth dropped open. "Why did you just do that?"

I wiped my hands together before placing them on my hips decisively and said, "I'm going to make a lifestyle change."

She busted out in laughter. "Yeah, we'll see how long  _that_  lasts."

"I mean it Sharpay. I'm going to get fit."

"Oh! I see what you're doing! You're going to get hot while Troy's still a pudgy mess. Hello revenge body!"

I put my hand up to silence her, cringing at the thought. "I'm not getting fit because of Troy. You're missing the point entirely. This is not for Troy. This diet, or rather _– lifestyle change –_ is all for me!"

"A broken heart doesn't need calories; it needs cardio." She winked. "You owe me for that ice cream though."

"I'll replace it with Halo Top." I smiled to myself; proud for not letting these Troy problems ruin me. Even better, I was going to use the explosion from the destruction of our friendship to propel me forward into the best me I could be. It was entirely possible that this devastation would bring about a rebirth of a version of myself so incredible that I would have to thank Troy for not loving me, for giving me the push I needed to take the first step.

As alluring as that all sounded in my head, there was still a part of me that yearned for Troy's attention, for his smile and his eyes. There would always be part of me that belonged to Troy, I feared. A part so ingrained by him that I would never feel whole again. Although I was still skeptical, I could believe that happiness without Troy was attainable. At least I chose to believe it for now.


	3. Flesh vs. Fantasy

As I chomped down on raw celery stalks and carrots, I knew that my days of succulent fried chicken and hot fudge cascaded over cloud-like scoops of ice cream were gone for good. Even crueler, they moved the foreign language and travel sections across the bookstore and replaced it with cookbooks around my register. Everywhere I looked, delicious dishes barricaded me in, taunting me with their tempting covers.

Daydreaming about what I'd binge on when I got home used to be what got me through my long shifts, but I've since resorted to distracting myself with our products.

After I finished re-shelving the returns or putting new books on display, I'd meander over to Josie's section. She was my favorite coworker: a playful eighty-three year old woman who rocked a pair of neon purple spectacles and matching nail polish. Whenever her favorite oldies tunes played in the store, she'd dance through the rows of bookshelves, snapping along to the beat and humming their melodies. Even more impressive than her dance moves was the fact that she had read nearly every title the bookstore had to offer. When I came to her for recommendations, she'd nail it every time like a sixth sense. All it took was one glance at me for her to know what I should read next. My first shift back after Troy and I talked, she came up to my station and slid a break up book on the counter. Today, she handed me a thin manual.

I read the title aloud, "Taking In Garments For Dummies." I shot her a quizzical glance.

She explained in her crackling, aged voice, "You need to learn how to take in those pants if you want to keep wearing them."

I stared at her blankly.

"You're losing weight, aren't you?"

I gasped in delight, "You can tell?" I looked down at my waist to see if I could spot a difference or if this was another Josie trick.

She giggled, amused by my excitement. "I pay attention. You've been eating like a rabbit the last month. No one eats all those carrots for fun."

An embarrassed blush warmed my cheeks. "I see. Well, thank you for the recommendation, as always." I weaved through the bookshelves back to my station and found a man impatiently tapping his foot in front of my counter. "I'm sorry," I said as I made my way back to the register. "How can I help you?"

Looking down at his watch he began to complain, "I've been waiting here for almost fi-" he cut himself off the moment he looked up at me.

I awkwardly cleared my throat and said, "I'm very sorry you had to wait, sir. I can help you now."

"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. I'm sorry if I'm grumpy, I've just had a long day."

I groaned, "I know how that goes." He laughed far too much.

As I scanned the barcode onto my POS system, he said, "I think I know you from somewhere." I glanced up to catch his green eyes narrowed at me in thought. He snapped his fingers as he remembered the connection and eagerly asked, "Didn't you do the Kid's Corner readings?"

"Yes, but they promoted me to floor supervisor."

"I thought I recognized you from that! I used to take my niece here every other Saturday to listen to your readings. She loved the voices you made! Why did they make you stop doing them when you got promoted?"

"I'm starting to host the adults' book club next Wednesday evening. You should come check it out. We charge a membership fee of ten dollars per meeting and a fifty dollar joining fee."

"I'll be there," he promised.

I was taken back by how easy it was for me to convince him to join. Usually people decline after I bring of the fees, but I don't think it was my nonchalant selling that convinced him. I had the strangest feeling that this guy was only interested in seeing me again. "It'll be at six in the atrium," I informed him, "and the book this week is Pride and Prejudice."

"Sweet! I have an anniversary edition at my place. It's my favorite book."

My knees weakened and I nearly swooned. "Mine too!" I gasped, "Jane Austen is my favorite author."

"No way!" he leaned onto the counter, the muscles in his shoulders shifting underneath his snug shirt. "That's awesome." I grew flustered underneath his emerald gaze, nearly dropping his card on the floor before swiping it. I gave him the receipt and book and reminded him, "Try to arrive at least ten minutes early. We'll have coffee and donuts."

"I'll see you then." He glanced at my nametag. "Gabriella. I'm Shane, by the way."

"I'll see you tomorrow evening, Shane."

…

As I stepped into the tiny apartment, I announced, "I'm home!"

"Good evening," Sharpay groaned as her eyes stayed glued to the laptop in front of her.

"Hey," I let the word drawl out, briefly contemplating whether or not I should even tell Sharpay what I was going to say.

She asked, "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

I knew she wouldn't let this go, especially after how secretive I just sounded. I sighed, "I met a guy at work today. A customer. He seemed interested in me."

"Was he cute?"

"Neither."

" _Neither_? What is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. He seemed in shape and he had nice eyes, I guess. I mean he wasn't like 'oh my god, I want to undress you right now'. But he wasn't like 'gross, get away from me' either."

"Knowing the guys you go for, he sounds like just your type."

"But…what about Troy?"

She turned her head to face me so quickly I thought she cracked her neck. By the unfiltered disgust in her features, I knew she was going to make me regret what I had asked. "What  _about_  Troy? Why do you care at all what Troy would think about you and your love life? He doesn't love you, so he doesn't care. Did you forget that already?"

"I didn't forget. I just feel like I'm being unfaithful."

"Do you think you can cheat on a crush or something?" She rolled her head back and roared out in incredulous laughter. "There's no relationship with Troy to be faithful to!"

"He's not just a  _crush_ , Sharpay."

"Whatever he is, you two are not a couple. So you can't be unfaithful to someone you're not even dating. Ogle of this new guy all you want. It's fair game."

"I'm not going to be ogling over anyone. All I said was that he seemed interested in me, not that it was reciprocated."

" _Please_. You wouldn't be walking in here all sunshine and daisies if it wasn't reciprocated. Ask him out!"

"I can't."

"Really? You can profess your love to your longtime best friend, but you can't ask some stranger out? You're a strange woman."

"I mean I wont."

"And why the hell not? He's totally your kind of ' _neither_.'"

I stepped in front of the couch and took a seat next to her feet, staring forward at the Legally Blonde poster on the wall across from me. I sighed, "I don't want anyone besides Troy. It might sound dumb, but I don't want anyone if they're not him."

"So about how long do you plan on letting him control you? I'm just curious."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not letting him control me."

Sharpay suddenly sat up, pulled the pillow out from behind her, and used it to hit me. "Wake up, Gabriella!"

"Sharpay," I spoke sternly, wiping my face-print of makeup off the pillow. "I am completely in control of my life and the choices I make."

"Could you hit yourself with that pillow again for me? I don't think I smacked enough sense into you the first time."

I rolled my eyes and stood, tossing the pillow across the room to a beanbag chair in the corner. I left for my bedroom and threw myself onto the bed. I turned onto my back and held my phone in the air over my face to read the last messages I sent Troy.

02/02/18: Hey.

02/04/18: Do you have any plans this weekend?

02/19/18: Modest Mouse is coming this summer. Should I get us tickets?

02/20/18: I bought two tickets. Let me know if you want to come.

02/27/18: Hey

I compared the dates and realized for the first time it had already been a month.

"I'm thinking tacos for dinner," I flinched at the sound of Sharpay's piercing voice in the doorway and dropped my phone onto my face. She snorted and said, "I don't know why you're having guy issues. You're the adorable kind of clumsy, like a baby deer walking for the first time."

"Thank you?"

"I hope you weren't texting Troy again," she said warningly, like a threat was lying just beneath the surface of her words. She plopped down onto the bed next to me so that we both stared up at the ceiling. "You know that if he wanted to talk to you he would."

"I know, I know. I'm wasn't texting him."

"Anyways, tacos. What do you think?"

"I can't. I'm on a diet, remember?"

She said with fake disappointment, "You've changed."

I laughed, "God, I hope so."

"No, you're perfect. Always have been and always will be. That's why guys always went for you in college."

"If only one of them were Troy."

Sharpay pulled the pillow out from underneath her head and raised it in the air, but I grabbed onto her wrist before she could smack me with it. She dropped the pillow into her other hand and pressed it over my head, essentially smothering me as I squirmed underneath her. She finally took it off and I gasped for breath. "Stop thinking about Troy!"

"I'm trying."

"No, you're not. You  _want_  to, but you don't want to put in the effort it requires. You just like the idea of it. There's a big difference." She suddenly gasped, "Maybe that's what you're doing with Troy!"

"What?"  
"Maybe you only love the idea of Troy, but not himself."

"What are you talking about? Loving the  _idea_  of someone? There's no such thing!"

"Think about it…how much of your feelings for him revolved around the potential you two could have, but not what you actually were?"

"Come again?"

"When you felt in love with him, was it because of the perfect boyfriend he  _could_  be, or because of the friend he actually is? Was it your fantasy, or reality?"

I sternly said, "I love Troy. I'm not in love with a fantasy."

"Are you sure? Gabby, I could be onto something! Maybe this is the realization we've been waiting for. When you believe that you only loved the future you saw with Troy instead of the man himself, you can explain that to him and things won't be weird between you two anymore!"

"But I  _know_  that I love him, actually love him. Troy in the flesh, not the fantasy."

"I'm just giving you an alternative. It's something to reflect on." She rolled onto her stomach and crawled off the bed. She went to leave, but hesitated in the doorway. She looked back at me and spoke quietly, "Even if it's not true, it  _sounds_  believable…maybe just believable enough to get you two talking again. Think about it."

I reached up for a pillow and smothered my own head with it. I groaned into the plush, "What am I going to do?" I knew my love for Troy was absolute. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved him for the man he was, not the potential he held. Nevertheless, maybe Sharpay really was onto something. Maybe just telling him I realized that I only loved the idea of him would erase my earlier confession. I was desperate for a way to fix what I had destroyed, and maybe Sharpay's suggestion would be the first step to gluing us back together.

I jumped off the bed and approached my dresser and torn a blank page out of a notebook. I wrote:

_ Troy – _

_ I know that I cannot take back what I confessed to you, but I would like the opportunity to clarify something. When I told you that I loved you, I truly believed that I did. I've gotten to reflect on everything this last month and I made an important realization. _

_ I never loved you. I only ever loved the idea of you. _

_ I hope that you understand that my love was only fleeting and superficial. I'd like to talk to you again and be like we were before this mess happened. _

_ Please call me. _

_ \- Gabriella _


	4. Miss Movin' On

As I read through column after column of job description, I briefly envisioned myself in each role. I saw myself balanced on my tiptoes, struggling to reach the top shelf in a grocery store. Just when I thought the glass jar of marinara sauce was properly placed and turned around to start on the box of Alfredo, a deafening crash sounded as the entire shelf fell backwards into the next aisle, and then the next aisle, and then the next until they were all flattened. Across the field of broken packages and shattered glass, my boss roared, "You're fired!" I blinked and I was back on the couch with my nails digging into the armrest. I picked up the newspaper and ran a thick red line through the shelf stocker opening.

I looked at the one beneath it – an opening for a teaching assistant at a public middle school. I could already feel the inevitable migraine from hoards of screaming twelve year olds. I put another thick line through that one. I flipped over the paper and realized that was the end of the job listings. I flipped back and found the entire page was crossed out in red. I was either unqualified or unwilling to do any of these jobs. I crumpled the paper between my hands until it was just a small ball and chucked it across the room into the kitchen garbage.

Sharpay looked up from her place hunched over her laptop at the dining table and asked, "No luck?"

"Nope," I sulked.

"You just have to find what you're passionate about."

I challenged her, "Then tell me you're passionate about car insurance."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm passionate about keeping a roof over my head. Insurance is just a stepping stone, a  _transition_ , if you will. I know I'll get back into fashion someday."

"Well at least you have something to strive towards. I have no idea what I want to do."

"You'll discover it someday."

"Not soon enough." I stood from the couch and approached the end of the table across from Sharpay. "Shar – I can't believe I'm saying this – I might have some issues with coming up with the money for rent this month."

She capped her pen and shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I got it covered."

"I promise I'll pay you back. I just need some time to come up with the money."

"Take your time. I know things haven't been in your favor lately. Just focus on getting back on your feet and then we'll see about repayment."

"Thank you for understanding."

"Of course."

I started heading back into my room, yelling across the apartment, "I'll see you later tonight."

"Where are you going?" She yelled back, "I thought the book club wasn't until later!"

"I have to run an errand." I grabbed my hand-knitted scarf from the hook on the back of the door and wrapped it around my neck. Then, I knelt onto the floor and checked underneath my bed for my pair of winter boots.

I heard the pitter patter of Sharpay's feet running across the apartment until she appeared in my doorway. "An errand, huh?"

"I have to drop a letter off at the post office."

"A  _letter_? The  _post office_? I don't think so. This isn't nineteen seventy-two. What are you really up to?"

I stood and removed the folded letter that I wrote last night from my coat pocket and held it up in the air. "It's for Troy. It says I didn't really love him."

"Are you taking it directly to him?"

"I'm going to try to."

"Gab-"

"This is too personal for a text, and it's not something I want to risk getting lost in the post office. I'll ask him to open it after I leave. That's all I'm doing."

Sharpay nodded, "Fine."

"Wait, did you just say  _fine_? You're not going to talk me out of it? You don't want to hit me over the head with something?"

She smiled. "I think you actually thought this one through. You're doing the right thing. I'm impressed."

"Thanks."

"Just don't say anything more than 'read it when I'm gone'. Keep your instructions short, simple, and easy to follow. Whatever you do, do  _not_  go off script." She murmured underneath her breath, "God knows what happens when you blabber."

"There she is."

…

I meandered through the snow-coated city all the way to Troy's place. I trotted up the steps and knocked on the door. When no one answered, I knocked harder. I heard footsteps approaching the door on the other side and I instinctively backed up, quickly considering abandoning the letter on the step and sprinting away. Before I could make a decision, the door opened.

"Oh, hi Gabriella."

"Hello Mrs. Thomas." I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Troy's neighbor, Geraldine Thomas, who rented the lower level. "Troy isn't here, is he?"

"I think I heard him leave, but you could double check."

"Thank you." I entered the foyer and climbed the stairs. I knocked on his door, but no one answered. I kneeled onto the floor and carefully slid the letter beneath the door. As I descended the stairs and began heading to the bookstore, I prayed that the letter alone would be enough to convince him of the lie and that he wouldn't question it any further.

…

The atrium connected the west side of the building to the store next door, and looked less like an atrium and more like a dingy alley with dead plants. I greeted everyone as they entered, introducing myself as the new leader and directing the newcomers towards the table of food. Just before I had to leave my post to begin the discussion, Shane entered. "Hey," he said. "I hope I'm not late."

I smiled. "Just in time."

The book club members took their seats in the circle of chairs. I stood and began, "I'd like to start this discussion with a question regarding Austen's theme of social class and hierarchy. Would anyone like to begin the-" a hand next to me shot up. "Shane?"

"I found Austen to be highly critical of the importance social classes hold in their society, as we can see in Mrs. Bennet's scramble to fit her daughters with men of higher classes. I find that particular message in this novel is still relevant today. People will always be terrified of lowering their social status. It's a well-picked theme that helps this story stand the test of time." Ever since that answer, Shane continued to impress me more and more with each piece of his commentary until the very end. While everyone else gathered their things and began heading out the doors, Shane asked me, "Hey, do you want to grab a bite to eat or something?"

"Now's not a good time for me."

"When would be a good time?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean it's just not a good time with what's going on in my life at the moment. I hope you understand."

"You can't eat dinner?" When I opened my mouth to respond, he said, "I'm only teasing! Look, I get it. You're not looking to date. That's fine. I just thought maybe you'd want to make a friend. Getting dinner doesn't always mean a date."

"I'm not hungry."

"Coffee? Arcade? Bar? Club?"

"I really hope you don't intend to suggest everything."

"Until you feel too bad for me and oblige, even it's just out of pity."

"Fine, but I at least want to get a smoothie out of this."

He shrugged, "That's fair."

We walked a few blocks down to the local juice store and bought two pungent green smoothies. Shane held his drink up in front of his face, inspecting the substance. "You mean you actually like this stuff?"

"Oh, not at all, but I like feeling proud of how I nurture my body more than I dislike the taste."

"That's actually quite inspiring. Who knew I'd be motivated by a quote about a green smoothie?"

"You should hear what I have to say about carrots."

He smiled and took a big slurp of the drink, scrunching his face in disgust. "Alright, if you're going to torture me with this, I get to torture you back. What did your ex do to you to make you afraid of dating?"

I laughed. "He's not exactly my ex. I told my best friend that I loved him and it cost me the friendship. I haven't fallen out of love with him."

"You told him you loved him? Wow, that's very-"

"Stupid?"

"I was going to say brave."

"It was stupid because now we're not talking."

He nodded. "If it's worth anything at all, from a man's perspective, he's probably afraid to lead you on anymore than he already has."

"I don't think I was led on. I knew going into it that he probably wouldn't feel the same way and that we wouldn't ever actually date."

"Then why did you tell him?"

"The point-zero-zero-zero-one percent chance that he did."

"A gambler, are we?"

"I suppose, but I paid for it big time."

"Don't beat yourself up too much over it. If it's meant to be, he'll come back around."

"I might not have to wait for him to come back around. My roommate Sharpay thought of a great way to move past it. I wrote a letter to him saying that I was mistaken when I said I loved him. That I only truly loved the idea of him."

"And then you burned it, right?"

"No, I slid it under his door."

"Why would you do that? Now you're lying to him."

"I'm fine with lying to him if it means we can be friends again."

"Isn't that very deceiving? You're kind of coercing him to be your friend again."

"Well what the hell else am I supposed to do? Let him go?"

"Yes. Exactly that. You're supposed to let go of him."

I dropped my head onto the bar in front of us and murmured into its surface, "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is! You stop texting him, stop calling him, stop writing him  _letters_ , and move on with your life."

My phone buzzed and I whipped it out, expecting to see Troy's name, but only finding Sharpay's.

Shane asked, "Is it him?"

"No, it's Sharpay saying something about the clogged shower drain. I wonder why he hasn't called me yet. He should have come home by now and found the letter." I heard how naïve I sounded and asked, "He isn't going to call me, is he?"

"Probably not."

" _Great_." I crossed my arms over my chest and finally realized that now this isn't my fault. I wasn't the one ignoring the other. I wasn't the one running away anymore. Then, I felt something else. For the first time since Troy and I talked, I somehow felt at peace with my decision to tell him. I had spent the past month cursing myself for what I did, but now it was like that guilt had finally loosened its hold on me. Even if I didn't get the answer I wanted, at least I finally knew. Knowing was better than always speculating, questioning whether a prolonged glance meant anything at all and evaluating his every word for hidden signs. I was freed from overthinking and freed from my secret.

"Are you okay?" Shane asked. "You look irritated."

"I'm not irritated. I'm just thinking. I think you're right."

"Of course I am." He winked.

"I have to let him go. Like Sharpay said,  _his_  loss."

"Damn straight. You deserve someone who can reciprocate your love, or at least doesn't punish you for being honest."

I raised an eyebrow. "Someone like you, huh? Is that where this is going?"

"Well I wouldn't say it nearly as bluntly as that, but I know I wouldn't have acted the way he is. I'm not afraid of tough conversations. I wouldn't throw you away like that."

"I don't even know you, Shane. You seem like a great guy, but-"

"I'm not trying to convince you to trust me, I'm trying to convince you to let me show you that you can."


	5. Too Late

Some change is gradual, some change is anticipated, but sometimes change hits you like a semi truck. Talking with Gabriella that fateful January day was a change of the semi truck variety. My first glimpse into the severity of our problem occurred when I sat down and noticed how she avoided eye contact and nervously gnawed on her lower lip. Then, it all happened.

She said, "I love you."

Without reason to suspect anything else, I assumed she meant as friends. I responded, "Yeah, I love ya too, girl."

"Troy, I mean it." She took her time on these next few words like they were stubborn, resisting the open air. "I'm in love with you."

A wave of dread doused me from head to toe. As soon as I believe she had been serious, I laughed it off. Certainly she was only messing with me. "Okay. This a joke, right?"

"No."

I shook my head in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

She responded in a little voice, "I am."

"You love me?"

She nodded.

" _Love_  me?"

"Yes, I love you."

" _Love_ - _love_?" Now I was the one sounding ridiculous. She didn't answer, just kept looking at me, waiting for me to say it back. But I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if I was supposed to say anything at all. I grew so uncomfortable that I couldn't even look at her any longer, and I'm sure that only made the awkwardness worse. I could feel her watching me as I desperately glanced around the coffee shop like I could find the proper words sitting somewhere around us.

As the seconds of silence ticked on, I felt myself start to panic. I realized after what felt like ten minutes that I needed to at least look at her again. When I did, it looked like something broke inside her and she jumped to her feet. "I have to go," she said.

"Brie!" I called after her, but she was already at the door. "I'm sorry!"

Once she had fled, a few curious eyes lingered on me, wondering what on Earth that scene could have been about. Truthfully, I still wasn't sure myself. It was still so unreal that Gabriella could be in love with me. I felt the urge to check my scalp for holes. Surely pieces of brain matter had splattered the walls around us after the total mind-blow she just put me through.

I slowly rose from my chair and made my way out the door and across town back to my duplex, feeling like a stranger who had dropped in on my life. I was used to being Troy, Gabriella's best friend. Now I was Troy, her love. It was so crazy, unexpected, and dare I say  _wrong_?

Once I was inside my apartment, I crossed through the living room to my armchair and plopped down on it. I was still scrambling to process everything when my phone rang. When I saw Gabriella's name appear on the screen I wanted to ignore it, but I didn't. I answered the call and was immediately deafened by Gabriella sobbing, "I'm sorry I told you!"

"Whoa, Brie?"

She cried out, "I just wanted to be honest with you. I thought you'd appreciate that at least. I don't want to make things weird."

"Brie, calm down. It's alright."

She spoke at a hundred words a second, rambling, "Ijustneedtoknowthateverythingisgoingtobeokay," she gasped for air, "thatwe'regoingtobeokaybecauseIcareaboutyousomuchandIneedyouinmylifeand - "

As I fumbled for what to say, there was some commotion on the other side before the line was disconnected. I locked my phone and slowly lowered it into my lap. I began to take the situation apart piece by piece and examine the broken chunks. The sad truth was that this friendship wouldn't last much longer with unreciprocated love between us. Just when I thought we were doomed, I finally saw the obvious. Gabriella being in love with me would be perfect as long as I loved her too.

But was I in love with Gabriella? No. Could I fall in love with Gabriella? Was that potential there? Possibly. She's definitely lovable, and I had at one point in the span of our friendship developed feelings for her, but that was so long ago. I had since realized that it wouldn't work out between us and we were better off as friends. Now it seems that the only way we can stay in each other's lives is if I loved her, too.

I spent the rest of that night listing off Gabriella's favorable characteristics in the hopes that one of them would be enough to convince me I could love her. Now that I was thinking about it, I realized how much it would make sense for us to date. We have so much history and know nearly everything there is to know about each other, but even with all that in mind, something was holding me back. On paper it just made sense, but my heart simply wouldn't let me, and I didn't know why.

…

I wasn't going to give up easily. Maybe there was a compromise or something else we could do to get back to how we were. So the next day, I called her. Her voice rattled as she answered. "Hello?"

"Hey Brie, are you busy? I was hoping we could meet up and talk about things."

"I'm free right now."

"Okay, come over."

I nervously paced my living room until the door bell rang. I went down to retrieve her. When I greeted her, she avoided looking at me and instead walked around me up the stairs. She stood still in the center of my living room, still not acknowledging me. I asked, "Should we sit?"

"Sure."

"I want to understand what you said. I can't wrap my head around it."

She defensively snapped back, "You heard what I said. I don't know what's confusing about it."

"How long have you felt that way for me?" She wouldn't answer the question. "Brie?"

"It's been some time."

"A long time?"

She huffed, "Troy, I don't think I can give you that answer."

"What made you decide to tell me now?"

She sat as her eyes gradually grew redder and the lids filled with tears until one finally overflowed. She sniffled, "I think I should get going."

"Brie, hang on."

"I need to go," she yelled, springing from the couch and out the house. After that interaction, I knew things would never be the same.

Over the next month, she texted occasionally, but I never responded. Truthfully, my silence had nothing to do with Gabriella. It was my mom's health issues that kept me from talking to anyone at all for that matter. I knew that talking to Gabriella in particular would require a lot of effort to repair what had transpired. I didn't have the ability to focus on all that plus my mom's sickness. If I weren't struggling to even get out of bed and go to the hospital to visit my mom each day, maybe I would have had the strength to take care of my issues with Gabriella too. It's hard to explain, but watching my mom grow sicker and sicker was the only thing I could care about.

…

One day in early March, a little over a month after what happened in the coffee shop with Gabriella, a friend from work invited himself over.

I opened the door to let him in and he yelled, "Hoops!" Before I could react, a ball had hit my jaw.

I took a step back and instinctively held my jaw while yelling, "Ouch! Will you stop doing that?"

"I'll stop throwing it when you start catching it." He bent down to retrieve the ball and stood up with something else in his hands. "Hey man, did you see this? It was on the floor." He held out a small envelope to me. When I took it from him, I immediately recognized the handwriting.

"Secret admirer, eh? What does it say?"

I sighed. "It's not that." I rubbed my forehead and tossed the letter onto the coffee table. "You ready to go?"

"Aren't you going to open that?"

I wanted to push it out of my mind, but I knew I couldn't concentrate on anything else until I saw what she had to say. Defeated, I sighed, "I guess." I picked it back up and tore it open.

_Troy –_

_I know that I cannot take back what I confessed to you, but I would like the opportunity to clarify something. When I told you that I loved you, I truly believed that I did. I've gotten to reflect on everything this last month and I made an important realization._

_I never loved you. I only ever loved the idea of you._

_I hope that you understand that my love was only fleeting and superficial. I'd like to talk to you again and be like we were before this mess happened._

_Please call me._

_\- Gabriella_

"Please call me?"

Chad asked, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. It…nothing. Let's go."

I never called her. We could have overcame the love issue in due time, but I wasn't comfortable with insisting the letter was a lie because if it was (which it definitely was), then we're still at square one.

There aren't many instances where I can recall a specific event and say that was when everything changed. When it comes to her, I can. It all started with the simple misconception that I thought I knew everything there was to know about one Miss. Gabriella Montez. It's been four months since that fateful day, but I still think back on it constantly. What more could I have done? Should I have noticed her feelings? How could I have been so oblivious? Everything I thought I knew about her has changed. Was I wrong this whole time? I should have sensed it in the air. I should have felt it coming. There are so many things I should have done differently. I'm months too late by now.


	6. What We Can Save

Like most people who got an English degree, I hate my job. Mainly because I do nothing remotely related to literature in the slightest, but at least the degree got me a government gig with decent benefits. I process applications for food stamps; specifically making sure the applicants meet the qualifications. This means that I spend approximately an hour and a half actually doing that, about two hours  _looking_  like I'm still doing that, a half hour for lunch, and any time in between checking Facebook and/or spacing the hell out. Lately the time in between, and even some of the productive time, has been tarnished by concern. Every second I spend at work is another moment my mom sits alone on her deathbed.

It's Friday evening and I'm working overtime, so the office is especially quiet since it's such a crappy shift. Mom's not doing any better, but I have bills to pay and no more PTO. My supervisor knows what's been going on, so she lets me have my phone out in case there's an issue at the hospital.

The door at the far end of the cubicles opens and I glance above the dividers towards it. Lynette, my morbidly obese boss, waddles her way down the aisle as my cup of coffee ripples with each loud step she takes. I send up a quick prayer that she won't talk to me and thank god she passes by without muttering a single word. I keep my attention directed on the screen for a solid thirty minutes before I get a call from the hospital telling me they're moving my mom into hospice care. To me it just sounds like they've swapped out her deathbed. Nothing else has changed.

…

I pull into the cancer center out of habit before finding the hospice parking area. I take the maze of hallways to mom's room and gently knock on the door.

Her soft voice rasps, "Come in." Truthfully, I'm still not used to my mother's voice sounding like a dying woman, like someone who should be a stranger. I push the door in and am relieved to find a bouquet shop of flowers surrounding her. They moved my gifts with her. I position today's lily in the vase with the dozens of others I've brought for her – one for each day she's been away from home.

I ask, "Did you walk today?" She scoffs. "Did the nurses help you walk today?" She shrugs. I order, "Give me an answer, mom."

She snaps, "It doesn't matter anyways, Troy."

"Of course it matters. You need to keep your strength up."

"For what? I'm terminal. You think I won't be able to walk as a ghost or something? Maybe they'll have wheelchairs in hell."

"Don't say that." I'm not especially religious, but I don't appreciate her dooming herself to burn in an eternal fire because she does believe in it.

"It doesn't matter. I already know where I'm going."

"You don't know that."

She doesn't answer, but instead snatches the remote off her bedside table and turns on the TV. A fuzzy screen lights up and the voices coming from the speakers sound robotic. She says, "Hit the TV for me."

I wiggle the wires behind the TV until the picture and audio corrects itself. When I look back at my mom to see if she's pleased, I still barely recognize her. The mostly bald head with a few wispy strands of hair, her tiny frame, her gaunt features. I look at her and I wonder where she's gone. Her blue eyes, identical to mine, suddenly latch onto mine and she says, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"You have a look when you pity someone."

"I'm not pitying you."

"Then what  _are_  you doing? Because it doesn't look good."

I take a seat in the armchair beside her bed and hold her hand as she watches  _The View_  reruns. After a couple episodes, the visiting hours are over. I grab my jacket off the back of the chair and say, "I'm heading out. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you." I look to her with her arms placed across her chest and a frown on her face. She says nothing in response. "Mom," I push, "I said I love you." Her bottom lip quivers and tears well up in her eyes. I cross over to her and gently place my hand on her arm. I say, "Mom, it's ok."

She quickly jerks her arm away from my touch and yells, "Go! Just get out! I don't want you here anymore!"

A nurse peeks into the room and says, "Sir, visiting hours are over. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

I approach the nurse and demand, "Make sure someone is walking her."

…

It's Saturday and I had planned to visit my mom this morning like every weekend before, but I'm hesitant this time. I don't know what got into her last night, and I'm afraid to see the same angry woman today. So I don't go right away. Instead, I kill a few hours shooting hoops at the nearby park. My consistency has suffered since my college years. Honestly, I am ashamed by this beer belly and awful form. I used to be the star player, but those days are long gone.

I head back to the apartment and take a cold shower, get dressed, and go to the hospice center. As I walk through the hallways to her room, I spot a cluster of doctors and nurses standing in her doorway. "Did something happen to my mom?"

One of the nurses, a dark skinned and heavyset woman, pulls me aside. "Are you her son? Troy?" She asks me.

"I am. What's going on?"

"I was just about to call you." She pauses and wrings her hands together. "Your mother passed a couple minutes ago."

The floor that my heart had been resting on collapses and it crashes into my stomach. "She's dead?" I grip my chest and stumbled into the wall behind me, the world suddenly swaying beneath me.

The nurse grabs my arm and yells out, "Help!" The other nurses run to my side and one brings a chair.

I say, "I'm fine." I lean against the wall for support and focus on my breathing. It's heavy and erratic at first, but I correct it and soon my panic subsides.

…

Days have passed and I know I'm forgetting to eat and bathe, but truthfully, I can't find the energy to be concerned. I wasn't even bothered to let my work know what happened. That should make me worry, but my apathy has infested every part of me.

Once I finally decide to get out of bed around three in the afternoon, a lightheaded sensation overcomes me as soon as I stand. I decide to force myself to eat something. I find a bowl and cereal, but when I open the milk to pour it I can smell that it has soured. Dry cereal it is. I nom on the fruity flavored clumps of stale grain until I gag only a few bites in. I toss the rest into the trash and stack the dirty dish on the overflowing pile in the sink that I haven't bothered to take care of. I run my hand through my greasy hair and jump at the sound of knocking at my door.

"Troy!" The voice yells, and I know it's aunt Maggie yet again. She's been trying to get in contact with me since the hospital told her mom died, and also the reason why I turned my phone off the last few days. "Troy! If you don't open this door right this second, I'm getting the police to do a wellness check!"

"Go away!"

"Honey, it's not your fault. Please open the door."

I leave the door latched above, but unlock the deadbolt to prop it a few inches open and say to her. "Please leave."

Her eyes, blue in the same regard as mine and my mom's, scan my appearance from head to toe with concern glistening off them. "Troy," she leans closer to the gap in the door. "Why aren't you ready? I let you skip the wake, but there is no way you're missing your mother's funeral. Hurry up, we have half an hour." I scoff and go to shut the door when she lodges her foot in the crack. "Listen to me, Troy. You will regret this the rest of your life if you don't go to your own mother's funeral."

I shake my head. "It's not a choice for me. I just can't do it. I am unable, aunt Maggie."

"Troy, this  _is_  your choice! I know it's going to hurt, but I promise you from my own experience that it will help you mourn. Now go get ready."

I sigh. "Fine."

I was very tempted to stay wrapped up in my sheets and sleep until I died, but I believe aunt Maggie when she says I'll regret missing out on this. Even through the blur of grief and sadness, it was painfully clear that I had to bury my mother. The sunlight burned as I stepped back outside for the first time since she had passed. Aunt Maggie had a tight grip on my forearm as I helped her down the steps, either for her balance or to make sure I couldn't run away. Probably both.

We pulled into the cemetery just as the preacher gave his final words over her casket. Slowly, everyone gradually realized I was present. My relatives parted so I could approach and the preacher stepped away. I rested my hand on the thick wood, aware of everyone's eyes on me. It wasn't the right time, but I turned to face them and gave a few words anyways.

"I'm sure it's already been said, but my mother would be so humbled to see everyone here today. She was a brave woman and a strong fighter. I only wish…" I cleared my throat to keep it from collapsing on itself. "I only wish I could have been there in her final moments. Thank you." I rushed from the tent and got in aunt Maggie's passenger seat.

Her door opened and she slowly climbed in. We sat alone in the silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke. "That was beautiful, Troy. I know it wasn't easy. Thank you for coming."

…

She drains the pasta in the sink, a mushroom cloud of steam rising in her face as she does so. She fishes out a couple meatballs and a ladle of marinara sauce before serving me the food at the kitchen table. "Aunt Maggie," I say, "Thank you again." It's been a couple weeks now that Aunt Maggie has been taking care of me. She cleaned my entire apartment and cooked me dinner every night to make sure I was eating. If it wasn't for her, I would have completely wasted away.

She smiles. "Anything for my favorite nephew."

"Aren't I your only nephew?"

"That's besides the point." I crack a smile. "Troy, I meant to tell you sooner, but I have a plane to catch early tomorrow morning. I'll be gone by the time you wake. I hope you're comfortable taking care of yourself."

"Of course."

"Make sure you're getting out of the house at least once a day. Try to find a new job if you can." I nod, agreeing to her terms.

"Thank you for everything, Aunt Maggie. I wish there was a way I could repay you."

"Be happy, my dear. That'd be thanks enough."

The next morning, I start on Aunt Maggie's suggestions. I search the papers for job openings and try my luck online. By noon, I have submitted my resume to five different employers. Just then, it seems like my mind decides that was enough productivity for the day and punishes me with a dose of crippling mourning. I curl up on my bed and try to remember my mom's voice, the real one. How she sounded before she got sick and I realize that I can't. I don't remember my own mother's voice. All I can remember of her is the baldness and the cancer. Her severe weight loss and death.

In that moment, I realize how fragile it all is, how even the strongest bonds can be ruined by the unforeseen. It makes me question why I wouldn't fight to protect the bonds I have that could be repaired. Losing my mother was unpreventable, but losing my best friend could have been stopped.

I call the one person I didn't deserve.

She answers, "Hello?"

"It's me. Can we talk please?"

I wait for her to respond.


	7. Trouble

"Troy? What's going on?"

"Can we talk in person? I'm so sorry, Gabriella."

"I can be there in an hour. Stay put, okay?"

"Thank you." I disconnected the call and sat in my chair waiting for her to arrive. As the seconds slowly ticked by, I felt myself slowly deflate. It was like all the air and energy inside me was leaking out. I should be happy that Gabriella and I would see each other again, but honestly, my guilt was too strong to ignore. We wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place if I hadn't been so stupidly oblivious. I ruined everything. I didn't deserve her.

I heard the door buzz, but I remained unmoved in my seat. Now I was beginning to convince myself that Gabriella would be better off without me. Conflicted and ashamed, I retreated to my bedroom. I left the bedroom door ajar and pulled apart the thick comforter from the sheet beneath it and curled up on the mattress.

I jumped with there was a loud knock on the front door. "Troy?" It was Geraldine. "Gabriella is at the front door! She's asking if you're home. Can I let her up?" Now was the moment to decide. I couldn't push her away and pull her back again forever. Even someone as patient and naïve as Gabriella wouldn't stand for that treatment. Either we were to repair our friendship or never speak again, but the choice was now. "Troy?"

"Let her in please." I rose from my bed, the blankets falling at my feet, and strode across my apartment to the living room. I heard the large oak door slam shut from beyond the staircase and her footsteps quickly trotting up to my door. Her noticeably thinner self appeared in my doorway with big brown eyes looking at me with concern.

"Before you say anything, there's something you should know. I lied in my letter. I  _did_  love you, but I'm with someone else now."

I sighed in relief and said, "That's great!"

"It is?"

"Yes, of course. I'm happy you found someone else."

"Oh, I thought…I thought you might want to see me because…I don't know."

I carefully said, "I don't love you, Gabriella."

"I know that… _now_."

I dropped my head into my hands in shame. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you that earlier. There was a lot of other stuff going on, but that's not an excuse and I'm sorry. Honestly, I'm so sorry."

She crossed her arms over her chest and put her weight on one side, "I'm not going to say it's alright because it's not, but I can forgive you. So why did you change your mind? It seemed like we'd never speak again. Why did you call me now?"

"Well…you know how my mom's been sick?"

"Oh God."

I nodded.

"Oh my God." She cupped her hands over her mouth as tears ran down her fingers to her wrists. "Troy, I'm so sorry."

I paused to swallow the lump in my throat. "When I lost her, I realized how important it is to save what I can. That's why I called you."

She sniffled and wiped the back of her hands across her face. "I'm so sorry she's gone. I know how hard that is."

"Thank you, I appreciate that. I just don't want to lose anybody else, I hope that's not selfish."

"Of course not. It's entirely understandable." She wiped the last few tears and said, "Let's be honest, it might be a little awkward in the beginning just because of everything that happened, but I'm hopeful we'll be back to how we were before we know it, right? Don't you think so?"

I smiled. "I know so."

…

After a couple more days of job-hunting, I finally got a call back. Unfortunately it was from my old boss - Lynette. "Troy," she breathed heavily into the phone and I imagined her wrapping the phone line around her chubby fingers at her oversized desk. "I put a good word for you down at the adoption center. It's a lot more paper work and it pays less, but I thought I'd offer it to you just in case you hadn't found anything else yet."

"I appreciate that, Lynette. I…I'll take it." What else could I say? No one else had called me back and I only had one more month of rent saved up. I was desperate. So that next Monday morning, I strapped my lunch bag over my shoulder, wore my heaviest winter coat, and braved the piercing February wind downtown to the adoption center. Lynette definitely wasn't lying when she said more paperwork. My job was to review the financial stability of potential adoption candidates. Print this sheet, compare these numbers, accept or deny, fax that sheet, so on and so forth. It was tedious and soul-crushingly boring and five o'clock couldn't come soon enough, but at least I had plans with Gabriella that evening.

I found them huddled together against the windows of the pizzeria. Although her face was buried in the crook of his neck, I recognized her long purple winter coat. I stomped through the could inches of snow and rusting patio furniture to them and said, "Hey guys."

She reluctantly removed herself from his grasp and threw her arms around me instead. "Troy!" She excitedly cooed. "It's so nice to see you!" Before I could respond, she proudly introduced her new boyfriend. Leaning against him, she looked up to him adoringly and said, "This is Shane."

"Hello Troy." The man offered his hand and said, "I've heard a lot about you."

I shook his hand and said, "I'm sure you have. We go way back."

He gave me a quick smile before turning to Gabriella and asked, "Shall we?" The two of them led me inside while walking hand-in-hand. Some bitter, petty part of me hoped he was jealous of our history, but I shamed myself for that toxic thought. I distracted myself with the menu instead.

When the cashier asked for our order, Gabriella said, "I'll have your vegan broccoli pizza with gluten-free crust and light on the sauce, please."

Shane teased her, "You're disgusting, you know that?"

She giggled and squeaked, "Shut up!" Then playfully slapped him on the arm.

I stepped up to the other side of her and whispered in her ear, "So that's the secret then?"

She turned to me. "What do you mean?"

"That's how you lost all the weight? And, by the way, you look incredible. I mean, you've always looked incredible, but you can really see a difference. Congratulations, I'm proud of you."

She gushed, "Thank you Troy! It was mostly kale smoothies and chicken."

"Kale smoothie?"

Shane butted in, "They're actually not as bad as you'd think once you get used to it. But I only started drinking them because of her, my little health bug." He pecked on the tip of her nose, causing a blush to spread across her cheeks.

I told the cashier to make it a large and hander her one twenty dollar bill.

Shane quickly dug into his coat pocket and said, "Hey man, let me get that."

"It's on me," My ego insisted, even though that was the rest of my grocery budget for this week.

Gabriella sweetly remarked, "Thank you Troy." I felt my heart melt at the softness of her voice.

We nabbed one of the last available tables, a booth situated against the large glass windows facing outside. They both slid in on one side together and I took the bench opposite them.

Shane said, "So Gabriella tells me you play basketball."

"I do. Well, I used to, but-"

"What team?"

"Golden Bears."

"Ah, Berkeley. That's a great team. Did you play the full four years?"

"Yeah."

A frustrated whine sounded from Gabriella as she flailed her arms in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of her coat. I teased her, "Must you interrupt me?"

She giggled and scoffed, "Shush it, you."

He offered, "Do you want some help?"

"Please."

He grabbed her sleeves and helped release her from the coat's grasp. "There, are you happy now?"

Her shoulders rose up to her face and she smiled sweetly at him and cooed, "Thank you."

He laughed, "You're so adorable." And pecked her on the lips.

To keep my jealousy from sending me into a rage, I triumphantly remembered that although he may have her now, she loved  _me_  first. Why did I feel in competition with this man? I knew why, but I dared not think about it because if I did, I'd realize how it was already too late.

When the server finally set down the broccoli pizza and our plates, Gabriella was quick to divvy it up. The two of them easily enjoyed the meal, but I had issues resisting my gags. I persevered through it just to prove I could change like she did. As dumb as it sounds, I thought this meal could somehow prove that we could be as compatible as she and Shane, too.

I realized then that this situation was bad, bad, and bad - bad inside and out - bad all around. There was no more denying it. I wanted Gabriella. I wanted to prove to her that we could work. I wanted Shane to disappear into thin air so she and I could give it a shot, like we were supposed to before I so foolishly pushed her away. The only issue now was how to convince her to give me a chance, and whether she'd actually leave him to give me it.

 


	8. His Confession

Operation Get Gabriella has proven much more difficult than I anticipated. I try to make lunch plans with her; he already brought her lunch. I ask to go to a bar with her, but it's their two  _monthiversary_  tonight. I want to take her on a run through central park; he buys her cross fit membership. Anything I try to do for her, he's already a step ahead. There's no other explanation besides he knows what I'm up to, and he's holding on tight.

This morning I tried to surprise her with coffee before work. I picked up two skinny lattes from the coffeehouse by my apartment and caught a cab to her apartment. I trotted up the stairs as carefully as I could, anxiously watching the lids for steaming hot frothy milk to come sloshing out.

I knocked on the door and it swung open to expose Sharpay standing in a long pink nightgown with fuzzy slippers. Before I could murmur a word, she gasped in surprise and slammed the door in my face. Strange. I heard some shuffling on the other side and when the door opened again, she quickly snuck out into the hallway and shut it snug behind her.

She exasperatedly questioned me, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Are you  _trying_  to get your ass kicked?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Where's Gabriella?"

"Oh honey, she's  _so_  moved on. You better stop coming around here. Shane doesn't seem into that whole cuckold kink."

"He's here?" She bit her lip, hesitating telling me. "Is he?"

"Of course he's here." I realized who I was in this situation and it repulsed me. I was standing outside her apartment with two scaling hot cups of coffee, trying anything I could to steal her away from a man she loved. Could I be any more desperate? I was ready to give up.

"Here." Defeated, I handed a cup to Sharpay just as the door opened behind us. Gabriella stepped out with Shane trailing closely behind her.

Sharpay stood on the tip of her toes, pecked me on the cheek, and said, "Thanks boo."

Everybody froze. I glanced from Gabriella's surprised face to Shane's shocked expression, down to Sharpay who was snaking her arm around my neck, looking at me like it was my turn to make a move.

I bent down to peck her on the cheek and said, "You're welcome babe." I didn't know if it worked. It felt far too forced to be convincing, but at this point, I had nothing left to try.

I headed to work and read through application after application, sent in my paperwork accompanying them, made a couple phone calls, read some emails, and scrolled through Facebook. At around noon, I got a text.

_When were you going to tell me about you and Sharpay?_

It was from Gabriella. I told myself to breathe and play it cool.

_When it's official. We're just taking it slow atm._

_When did this start?_

_A week ago._

_Congratulations. I'm happy for you two. :)_

_Lol, thx._

That was completely useless. Now instead of being in a real relationship with Gabriella, now I'm in a fake one with her roommate. Could this backfire any worse?

…

I spent that weekend eating junk food and playing videogames completely unbothered. I was nursing a bad headache Sunday afternoon after a night of drinking alone when my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. I reached between the couch cushions as it screeched and freed the loud device before finding Gabriella's name on the screen. I rubbed my temples and reluctantly answered the call.

She quickly and almost excitedly said, "Troy, we need to talk."

Finally! I could taste victory already. "Come over." I hung up the phone and picked up all the wrappers and crumbs as fast as I could. I jammed the empty bottles in a trash bag and crammed that under the sink. I was wiping off the coffee table when I heard her running up the stairs.

I barely opened the door before she barged in past me yelling, "I'm freaking out! I'm absolutely freaking out, Troy!" That…was not what I expected. Maybe this wasn't what I thought it'd be about at all.

"Well, what's going on?"

She plopped down onto my couch with a defeated look and said, "Shane proposed." Mayday! Mayday! Abort mission! "Troy?"

"I…Hold on, what did you just say?"

She repeated, "Shane proposed."

I plopped down on the sofa next to her and asked more bitterly than I intended, "So what did  _you_  say?"

"I said I'd have to think about it."

"And then what did he say?"

"He got mad. He thought I should have said yes right away, but I told him I couldn't promise to be with him the rest of my life like that after only knowing him for a couple months. God, I don't know what to do."

"Has he talked about this before?"

"Yeah, but I thought he was joking, or at least meant it was something we'd talk about later on. I don't know what to do. I care about him so much and it would pain me to leave him, but I'm not ready to be his wife." Listening to her talk, I realized for the first time the depth that she cared for this man. I decided I would express the greatest love whether she realized it or not – letting her be happy – even if that meant without me.

"You should tell him that you want to take it slow and if he can't handle that, then you know he's only in it for a wife. I think you should try. He seems like a reasonable guy who genuinely cares about you. You belong with him."

I stared down sadly at my hands, waiting for her to agree. When the seconds of silence passed by, I finally looked up at her irritated face.

"What?"

She shrugged and asked, "So that's it?"

"That's what?"

"That's all you have to say?"

"Am I…Am I supposed to say something else? What did you  _want_  me to say?"

"Okay, guess I was wrong then." She stood from the sofa and began crossing toward the door.

"Wrong about what?" I rose and walked up to her to stop her. "Gabriella, what are you talking about?"

She shook her head. "I'm an idiot. All this time I thought you were competing with Shane."

"Hold up, did Shane even propose to you?"

"That's besides the point."

"Did Shane propose to you or didn't he?"

"Of course he didn't propose to me!"

"You lied!"

" _You_  lied first!"

"How did I-?"

"You think I really believed you and Sharpay were dating? Please! She's my best friend! That girl hates your guts after what happened between us."

"So what was the point in all this? Were you just trying to test me?"

She scoffed, "Weren't  _you_?"

I nodded. "It was all Sharpay's idea, honestly."

"Why did you go along with it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't play dumb. It's such a bad look on you. C'mon, you know why."

"I want to hear you say it. Out loud. I want you to say it exactly like I had to."

"Alright." I cleared my throat. "I confess! Gabriella Montez, you're my best friend and I am in love with you. And I'm sorry my timing is awful. I want you to do whatever you think would make you most happy. Obviously I'd prefer if that's being with me, but if it's Shane then I want you to go with him and I'll respectfully back off."

She slowly stepped forward, effectively closing the space between us. With a voice as soft as a whisper, she said, "Shane's gone."

I couldn't help but smile. "You broke up with him?"

She shrugged. "It was mutual. His job is moving him to Colorado in a couple months. And we agreed I should really be with you now that you're obviously interested."

" _Obviously_?"

"Painfully so."

"So does this mean what I hope it means?"

She grasped the front of my shirt and pulled me down to her height. Following her lead, I pressed my lips gently against hers. I kept repositioning my lips on hers again and again, desperate to keep it going. She eventually ducked her head against my chest and wrapped her arms around my torso. I held her tightly, stroking from the crown of her head down to the ends of her locks. Standing in my living room with the sun sitting beyond the skyscrapers, I realized I couldn't think of anyone else in the entire world I'd rather fall in love with than my best friend.

THE END


End file.
